


Busted

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Dork, Carlos is a Li'l Bit Jealous, Cecil is a Dork, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, Night Vale Politics, Spoilers maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil only has eyes for Carlos... Or does he? A little drabbly-thing about domestic bliss, jealousy, and breakfast cereal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fact that press releases seem to manifest themselves around Cecil (i.e. the press release about the party at the abandoned missile silo that he found under his pillow). That tickles the hell out of me!

Carlos looked across the small table in the sun-bright kitchen, and smiled. Cecil sat across from him in a fuzzy chartreuse bathrobe, hair morning-mussed, still not quite awake. He was squinting at his bowl of Fruity Pebbles like he was trying to figure out how it worked, jabbing it lightly with the tip of his spoon. 

Carlos knew that the younger him -- hell, the him of less than a year ago -- would have scoffed, but he'd had recently discovered that boring domesticity was bliss. He and Cecil didn't live together, not officially, not yet, but they spent almost every night together. Among other benefits, that meant the joys of waking up together. He picked up the box of Rice Krispies (he would have preferred Shredded Wheat, but, well...) and poured some into the bowl, then reached for the orange milk. Yes, life was pretty much perf-

"What the **FUCK** , Cecil?"

Cecil had stuck his left hand in Carlos' cereal bowl and was rummaging around in it. After a moment, he pulled a folded sheet of glossy paper out of the bowl and carefully unfolded it, brushing the cereal crumbs off of its surface. 

"Nice language," he said, prissily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. 'Oh, Carlos, fuck me harder, oh, I love your fucking cock.'" He pitched his voice a little lower in what he thought was a pretty darn good Cecil impression.

Cecil arched an eyebrow, unamused. "That's an entirely different matter, Carlos. This is _breakfast._ Have some respect." He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and started reading the paper he'd pulled from the bowl. "Oh, it's a press release from the McDaniels campaign."

Carlos immediately tuned out. He just couldn't get himself to care about the election. Politics in Night Vale were even more pointless than they were in the rest of the country, as far as he was concerned. Cecil had an endearing-yet-alarming tendency to believe almost anything he was told (well, unless Steve Carlsberg was saying it), but as for him, he didn't really think that Pamela Winchell was going to step down at all. She announced her resignation several times a week (once, three times in one day), but she never seemed to actually, y'know, **stop being mayor**. Maybe there would actually be an election, but he'd believe that one when he saw it.

He grabbed the milk and poured it into the bowl, listening to the now-familiar snarf-crunkle-blurp. It was strange, they had all the same products in Night Vale as they had everywhere else in the United States, but everything was just slightly -- nonstandard. Well, everything but Spam. Spam was exactly the same, for some reason. Hmm... Spam...

He lifted his head to ask Cecil if he liked Spam, only to see his boyfriend still looking, no, _gazing_ at the press release, blushing slightly, a funny little half-smile on his lips. Carlos knew that look. He grunted. 

"Oh, my god, you _like_ him!"

Cecil jumped and his blush deepened, then he batted his eyelashes in what had to be the most-transparent feigning of innocence of all time.

"Why, whatever do you mean, Perfect Carlos?" He smiled sweetly.

Carlos grabbed the press release from Cecil. It featured a full-color photograph of Hiram McDaniels, one head winking folksily while the other four menacingly streamed flames into the night sky. He jabbed an acid-stained finger at the photo.

"McDaniels! You think he's hot!"

Cecil patted his arm. "Of course he's _hot,_ Carlos. He's a _dragon_. He breathes _fire_."

"You know what I mean," Carlos snapped. "You think he's handsome, don't you?" He had started out half-kidding, but now he was really getting torqued. 

Cecil stammered for a moment, then sputtered "Well, uh, I'm taken!"

"That's not an answer, Cecil. I bet that's why you're always going on about him on the show! You'll probably vote for him, your little convicted-felon political crush boyfriend!"

There was a loud banging noise from somewhere in the apartment. 

"I haven't made up my mind yet," called Cecil to the Faceless Old Woman (who not-so-secretly lived in the house, and who was McDaniels' main competitor in the mayoral race). "And anyway, I'd hardly call him _little,_ would you? He's eighteen feet tall, you know. And he's not a convicted felon until after the show trial." Carlos growled. Cecil grinned and stroked Carlos' flushed cheek, then continued, tenderly. "But he's not my boyfriend. I've got the only one of those I'll ever need."

Carlos leaned into the warmth of his touch, and the absurdity of the whole thing hit him. He was jealous. Of a felonious dragon. Who was running for mayor. He should definitely chill. He started to giggle. "All right, _mi amor_ , all right." He handed the press release back to Cecil, who gave him a relieved peck on the cheek and then cocked his head to one side, regarding the picture again. 

"He _is_ good-looking, though, all those beautiful scales and pearly claws and gorgeous reptilian eyes. And, of course, the fire-breathing." He sighed. "If I were single..." He looked at the photo a moment longer, then back at Carlos. "You wanna go back to bed?"

Carlos rolled his eyes. "You're joking, right?"

"Yeah..." Cecil chucked for a moment, then stopped abruptly and stared Carlos in the eyes. "No, but seriously."

Carlos considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Cecil grabbed Carlos by the hand and practically dragged him to the bedroom, breakfast forgotten, cereal turning to sickly mush in the bowls. As he allowed himself to be pulled along, Carlos grinned. Boring domesticity...


End file.
